Come, Thief

Buddhism and aphorism, outdoor delights and indoor wisdom have all attracted readers to Hirshfield's spare and approachable lines; the poet navigates securely between praise and advice, mostly in clearly quotable form. "Wrong solitude vinegars the soul,/ right solitude oils it." "How happy we are,/ how unhappy we are, doesn't matter./ The stone turtle listens. The famished horse runs." Allegorical scenes like bare stage sets introduce elegant observations in conversational free verse, in words drawn from common American speech: sometimes the results sting, sometimes they end up sweet, and sometimes they end up too sweet, faux-profound ("Hearts stop in more ways than one"). More often, though, Hirshfield (Nine Gates) can speak to many lives in just a few phrases, mixing in ancient fashion the fires of consolation with the lights of warning, as in her three-line poem "Sonoma Fire," which ends on "The griefs of others%E2%80%94beautiful at a distance." Admirers of Mary Oliver, of the early works of Louise Gl%C3%BCck, and even of Kay Ryan might find more pages to cherish. (Aug.)